Her Last Night

At this time 4 years ago, my son had just shared with my mom that he had passed black belt testing. According to the nurse, my mom had not eaten, spoken, or moved all day. But when Matt told her of his accomplishment, my mom said “that’s wonderful” over and over again. She was waiting for her grandson to pass his testing and knew that he would. About 15 hours later, my mom drew her last breath and was finally at peace.

My mom’s last night with us is forever in my memory in both good and bad ways. The good – the love my mom had for her family and her strong belief in her grandson gave her the will to live until he passed his black belt testing. That is unconditional love.

I will never forget the last night I spent with my mom. The fear I had that she would die. The fear I had that she would continue to live in pain. About a year ago, I wrote a short story about the last night of my mom’s life and the morning she died. Here are excerpts from the part that talks about the last night of her life:

The bedroom was very dark; much darker than my bedroom at home. A small nightlight off to one side of the room glowed dimly, and a projection clock slowly ticked off the minutes on the ceiling above me. Even though I had been in this bedroom hundreds of times over the past 30-some years, I had never slept here. This was my parents’ bedroom, and I was here at my dad’s request. He was asleep in my childhood bedroom down the hall, although that didn’t provide me with any comfort. Nothing did at this point.

I was cold, probably more because of the circumstances than the temperature of the room or the number of blankets that covered me. But it hardly mattered because I knew that I would get little sleep during the night. I was afraid to fall asleep. A few feet from me, my mom sat in a stuffed chair covered by blankets. She was in too much pain to lay flat in her bed… .

Even though I wanted to help my dad, I was scared and felt completely helpless. Before I climbed into my parents’ bed, I knelt before my mom, tucked the blankets around her, and let her know that I would be with her all night. I told her that all she had to do was say my name and I would help her. Less than an hour had passed since then. Was my mom sleeping? Was she warm enough? How much pain was she in? If she was awake, what was she thinking about? All of these thoughts raced through my mind as I watched the minutes tick away slowly on the projection clock above me. I was scared that my mom would need something and I wouldn’t know how to help her. Honestly, I was terrified that she would die during the night and I wouldn’t be able to handle it… . I lay awake listening to my mom’s breathing and the click of the morphine pump, which, at this point, hardly provided any pain relief.

The night passed by slowly… . The numbers 12:28 illuminated a small part of the ceiling. I silently slid out of the bed and re-covered my mom. Her arms and hands kept shifting, twitching, or jumping, as if they were controlled by puppet strings. This had happened at times during the day, but these movements seemed to have worsened. With each movement the blankets would shift until they eventually slid off. After all that my mom had been through, it seemed beyond cruel that she should be cold on this frosty November night. This was the only thing I could control, so I kept getting up to reposition the blankets. I also pushed the button on the medicine pump for an extra dose of morphine, thinking that she may be in a lot of pain. At one point while I was re-adjusting the blankets, I knelt before my mom and tried to figure out if she was asleep. I wanted to make sure she was as comfortable as she could be or see if she needed anything. I quietly said her name and then stared at her through the darkness, hoping for some sort of response. I wanted to talk to my mom. I needed to talk to her. I knew she was dying and I wanted to make sure my mom knew how much I loved her. But she didn’t say anything, or even move, just a few twitches of her hand. So I went back to my parents’ bed and hoped the rest of the night would pass by quickly.

When I had first seen my mom earlier tonight, I was shocked at how much she had deteriorated since I last saw her only a day ago. Her chin was nearly touching her chest because she didn’t have the strength to lift her head anymore. My mom had become a mere shell of her former self. I laid there for a while listening to my mom breathing. The clock on the ceiling showed that it was 1:35.

I closed my eyes and prayed, something I did almost every night. I asked God to comfort my mom and surround her with angels. Before now, all my prayers had asked for one thing, to heal my mom, something only a miracle could do. But at this point, there would be no miracle. My mom was going to die. I believe my mom realized this too, but I had no idea how she really felt about it, except that she didn’t want to leave my kids. I drifted off to sleep as I was praying, and then awoke with a start, surprised that I had fallen asleep. The projection on the ceiling showed that it was a little after 4:30 am. I quickly listened for my mom’s breathing, relieved that she was still alive. I got up and checked her blankets, and then went back to bed.

As I read these words again, I remember that night – my mom’s last night with me. Four years have passed since that horrifying night. I still remember the details, but the pain doesn’t run as deep. I am slowly healing. I miss my mom, but I am grateful that she is no longer in pain and at peace.